


oh what a night

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Kisses, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes love can pull you under, like a rolling bolt of thunder and no one knows this better than John Watson. </p><p>Inside an ordinary flat in London two men are mess of tangled limbs, a heap of warmth and unspoken words. It's pouring outside, fat drops rolling down the window pane with thunder booming in the distance. It's starting to sound like the end of all things but John isn't afraid and for once he doesn't jump when the thunder claps. He doesn't clench his eyes together and imagine impending death on a battlefield far from home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh what a night

Inside an ordinary flat in London two men are mess of tangled limbs, a heap of warmth and unspoken words. It's pouring outside, fat drops rolling down the window pane with thunder booming in the distance. It's starting to sound like the end of all things but John isn't afraid and for once he doesn't jump when the thunder claps. He doesn't clench his eyes together and imagine impending death on a battlefield far from home.

The whole world could fall to pieces around them and he wouldn't care, he'd simply pull Sherlock in closer because if this is death then he'd gladly welcome it. _Sherlock_ is his home.

* * *

 

 

"John..." He mumbles sleepily and reaches out an arm to tug at John's jumper.

"'s okay, I'm still here",John whispers and holds on a little tighter. He wonders if there will ever be a time where Sherlock doesn't worry that he'll leave and never come back, if he'll ever have happy dreams instead of haunting nightmares that wake him in a cold sweat, screaming John's name. There's so much John doesn't know and maybe it's better this way, maybe he couldn't handle knowing.

"You left...not in the flat anymore. I...came back. I came back for you, you were gone...your chair empty. Silence is too loud, everything too loud", he's talking in his sleep and breaking John's heart with every word. Sleep is the only time that this stoic man, this carved-in-marble-and-ice human being, is vulnerable. John wants to wake him, to beg for forgiveness for things he thought, words that slipped off of his tongue in anger, for feeling things too deeply but Sherlock wouldn't want that. He'd mistake it for pity and they've only just began, why go backwards now?

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere I promise" , hushed whispers murmured into dark curls. The words never feel like enough but he's not good at these things and his apologies and promises sound more like rehearsed verses. 

Sherlock abruptly sits upright in bed, John's arms falling off to the side. Cold sweat beads at his forehead and his hands tremor slightly. He's scanning the room quickly trying to remember where he is, what day it is, if he's even awake at all. Eyes lock on John, his life raft in this turbulent place.

 _John_.

* * *

 

 

Soft eyes stare back at him with a hint of sadness. Why is he sad? He doesn't like it when John is hurting, wants to fix it if he can.

"John, what's wrong?", he's speaking in a voice that doesn't sound like himself and holding John's face in his hands. It's warm and he smells faintly of tea and _home_.

John blinks slightly and meets Sherlock's eyes, hoping his own aren't giving away too much but he can't control what he can't see.

 _"_ What's that? _"_  He replies as if he's no idea what he's talking about. _Distraction_. Don't want to ruin the mood with too many feelings, with pain and dark memories.

"Nothing, you just looked off for a moment. Are you okay?"He still has John's face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing. There's an unmistakable tingle in his blood stream when they touch. Not sure what that means, makes a mental note to examine it closer later.

"I'm fine, never better." John smiles and closes his eyes, leans into Sherlock's hands.

 

Leaning forward, Sherlock presses his lips to John's. _Tingly feeling increasing_ , still not sure what this means but he likes it. He tastes of tea and the biscuits Mrs. Hudson brought up earlier. He could devour every inch of him for every day of their life and never tire of it. But John likes to take things slow. _Ease into it_ , he says. Sherlock has never been good at waiting but he's doing his very best. John deserves that much.

Feeling braver, he parts his lips against John's. An invitation, _come play_.

The thunder outside is increasing and lightning is filling the room, flashes of color in an otherwise dark space.

John takes initiative and slowly meets Sherlock's tongue.  _Salt water and sugar,_ John thinks. He's a contradiction; soft in all the right ways, hard and cold when he needs to be.

Slow caresses back and forth, tongues tasting a preview of what's to come. They're both breathing heavily and John is sure that Mrs. Hudson can hear their hearts beating together, like drums they're so loud. His skin is tingling, chest so heavy that he can hardly breathe. Death, sweet death. He's dying a slow death in this man's arms, he's exploding inside and it's a welcome feeling. He's never felt so _alive._ Sherlock is in his arms, his heart, his mouth, his veins. He's everything and John hungers, craves him in a way that he's never craved before. He's starving and wants nothing more than to feast at the table of the man he loves.

 

"Now,"he whispers so quietly he's not sure the words even came out of his mouth. His throat is hoarse and parched. Skin is on fire, blood feels like it's boiling, heart is racing. He presses Sherlock back down against the bed. Glances up to check in with him, _Is this okay?_

Fire. Pure fire in those incandescent eyes, scorching John without even touching him. _He wants this too, needs it._

Peeling clothes off with haste, silent longing in every clumsy movement, heated kisses.

Sherlock feels like he's burning inside. He could die of this love, every day a new death he'd welcome it. He's never felt such agonizing pleasure. He longs to mark John, to press his name into every inch of him, to consume him.

Here and now there are no more barriers between them, naked skin against one another and _oh God._ Sherlock is burning, melting, incinerated. _John. John with his calloused hands and his warm lips, John with his scruffy hair and eyes oh god...his eyes...no one has ever looked at him like this man. This must be what it feels like to want, to crave with every bone in your body and he wants. All of this, every day for the rest of his life. Nothing else matters._

"Sherl...Sherlock...we are going to need to coordinate,"  John breathes. 

"Yes, of-of course." comes the reply.  They surrender to the feeling, sink into it. It feels like they've waited half their lives to make it this far, to find one another in the darkness. They're _one_.

* * *

 

 

Outside, the rain picks up and pounds against the roof. Lightning and thunder collide for a moment, painting the room in bright lilac. _It couldn't be more perfect_ ,  John thinks to himself. Thunder and lightning, always meant to collide, one always trying to touch the other one if only for a moment. Clinging to one another like leaves quivering in the wind, leaves in a tornado, the rush threatening to pull their bodies under. Nothing could be more perfect or more divine than two elements merging together for the first time.

* * *

 

 

_Some time and many kisses later..._

Sweet sleep, a faint drizzle outside under gray skies with a sliver of the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

 _Hope_ _, a new beginning, a promise._

 

In an ordinary flat in London, 221B, two men are falling, letting the rush like a rolling bolt of thunder pull them under.

_Oh what a night..._

 

 


End file.
